Gonzo Gastronomy

I spend a lot of time teaching my kid that whole “names can never hurt me” thing. If someone calls you an idiot and you know you aren’t, who cares? It’s not one of the easiest lessons to teach, given that if someone calls me an idiot my natural inclination is to spew a litany of expletives back at them even though I know I’m not an idiot. I guess it’s that whole “do as I say…” thing and whatnot. It also gets a little hairy when someone is no longer saying it to your face but writing it on the internet. We’ve got laws against libel that put a choke hold on our laws for free speech, which put the burden of proof on the writer. Can he prove you’re an idiot? If not, he’s screwed. Calling you an idiot online without the necessary photos of you wearing underwear on your head during the office Christmas party, for example, could land him with a lawsuit. But where it gets even hairier is when you’re talking shit about a huge corporation that then has to save face—twice over. There’s always more than one way to skin a cat, and Korbel has recently gone about it with a dull razor.

Last year, anonymous chatterboxes on Craigslist accused Korbel Champagne Cellars of several nasties, like punishing employees who reported sexual harassment, plotting to cut down redwood forests on its Guerneville property, and bribing law enforcement and court authorities to keep the company out of trouble. Korbel sued them, but it’s kind of hard to serve papers when you don’t know who the hell to serve them to. So Korbel has now asked a Sonoma County judge to make Comcast Corp. turn over the names of the people who criticized the wine company. Their lawsuit claims that the postings are part of a “conspiracy to defame” them. They’re probably gonna get what they’re after, and they may have every legal right to do so (assuming they can prove they were damaged by the statements), but is it the smartest of PR moves if they’re trying to save face? No.

When you’re as big as Korbel, I’m thinking it might have been a better PR move to simply deny the accusations as laughable, quietly walk away and go back to making your crappy wine. I’m also thinking that maybe going through all these hoops is drawing more negative attention to them. It’s about piling crap on a dung heap…it only serves to make a bigger mess. They could’ve turned this into a positive for themselves, but chose the knee-jerk reaction instead. Now they’re the bully instead of the victim, and I get the distinct feeling they’re gonna come out of this looking worse than any picture the naysayers may have painted of them—if that’s at all possible to do to the idiots over at Korbel.

“Balls!” said the Queen. “If I had t(w)o, I’d be King.” So begins one of my favorite little ditties. Well, if I had t(w)o, I’d be the Jack of all Trades, but as it stands, I’m most assuredly a Jack but I believe my surname is Ass. I’m one of those people that love to dive head first into creative, hands-on endeavors, especially when they involve food or drink. I’ve made several batches of my own ales, I’ve made my kid cakes in the shape of a Fender Stratocaster & amp, and I’ve even created a family of chocolate truffles based on favorite cocktails. But as of late, I’m as confused as the proverbial fart caught in a fan shop. After buying “Charcuterie” by Michael Ruhlman I’m dying to start smoking my own bacon and making my own sausages…and salumi…and patés…and confit. I’ve also been toying with the idea of starting a vegetable garden this year, in addition to the herbs I normally grow. Then, after reading a great post over on Food On The Food, I got a sudden urge to start a mushroom patch. Oh, and did I mention that I want to perfect my bread making skills this year? I’ve promised my mother ethereal croissants this summer and I simply don’t know how to fail, so if it takes a flour-caked kitchen, a trampled-on cat, and probably getting served divorce papers, I WILL make great fucking croissants if it KILLS me.

I don’t exactly have the greenest of thumbs—ok, they’re practically black—but that doesn’t seem to stifle the longing in me to stick my hands in the dirt and plant some tomatoes. I mean, how much could it possibly matter that I once managed to kill a damned cactus, right?!? It’s not how often you fail, but how many glasses of wine you have after you pick yourself up and try again. So the voice on one shoulder (we’ll call him doubting husband) tells me to squash any notions of greenery in my near future and focus on things I can’t actually kill, per se. I’m not sold on this idea, so I often shove a truffle in his mouth, and that’s enough to silence the voice for a while.

Then there’s the little voice on the other shoulder (we’ll call him everyone-else-in-the-blasted-family-tree guy) that agrees with doubting husband and tries to convince me to focus my efforts on charcuterie and bread making. Why? Because I should consider the family, and how well some homemade salami and fresh bread would go with my roasted peppers at the next party. I mean, really, what are they supposed to do with poorly ripened, sad-looking, penis-sized eggplant? No faith, I tell you. That unified voice is not so readily silenced, but I find that telling them that if they continue to piss me off I could easily poison there next meal hushes them to an inaudible whisper that I can swat away from my ear like the pesky annoying gnat that it is.

Help…please, I implore. What should I do? I’ll let you be the third voice—the voice of unbiased reason. The one that would never tell me that opening that third bottle of wine at 2am is often a bad idea. Am I nuts to want to do it all? OK, never mind the nuts part—should I limit the focus or throw all caution to the wind? Let me know. That way, I can blame it all on you.

The folks over at Fortress Vineyards flatter me, they really do. They recently sent samples of their 2 new releases for me to review side by side, which is flattery in my book because, since I make no bones about not caring what anyone thinks, I figured the feeling was mutual! Perhaps it was the fact that I waxed eloquent about their great sauvignon blanc, I dunno. But I gotta tell you…these people are on their game. I defy you to look into my long history of posts (yeah, all six months’ worth) and find me raving about ANYTHING coming out of California. And yet I can’t seem to shut up about Fortress. Folks, I’d like to introduce you to my new paramours, Fortress’ Novateur and Finale (technically being released end of the month).

The reason they wanted me to try these two babies side by side is because they represent, in essence, old world and new world perspectives—a winemaking-style throwdown if you will. On the one hand, you have Finale (old world), which is 100% semillon and made in a classic Sauternes style, except for the not-so-small fact that the grapes never see the likes of botrytis. They were actually able to leave the grapes on the vine to 38 Brix (sugar level) but still maintain natural acidity because of their high altitude and constant lake winds. Most wineries either spray botrytis on their grapes (artificially innoculating them à la Dolce by Far Niente), or in the case of Beringer’s Knightingale, they pick the grapes, put them on a tarp in a special room, spray them with botrytis, and leave them in the dark, damp room to go for the effect of the naturally infected Sauternes grapes. According to Barbara Snyder, “At 38 Brix, there definitely was not a lot of juice left in the grapes and we had to press very gently for a long time…it took months for the full fermentation!” Even its label screams out “old world” in a design very similar in style to those like Château d’Yquem.

On the other side of the coin you have a really intriguing Novateur. This wine is made from a blend of both semillon and sauvignon blanc (musque clone), and it’s labeled as being “off dry.” Had they stuck this in a typical 750ml bottle and called it off dry, I probably would’ve turned my nose up at it on a store shelf, figuring it was simply a table wine tailored to fit the Coca-Cola palates of today. I would’ve been a shithead for doing so, but that’s beside the point. Instead, they’ve positioned this wine as a cross-over between the table wine and sweet wine worlds— think Carry Underwood in a glass. It’s sold in half-bottles so that your brain immediately expects a sweet wine, but instead gets a fascinating wine that is both deceptively crisp and fruity, without being cloyingly sweet. Mind games, I tell you. So not only could this pair well with cheeses, foie gras and some desserts, but idealistically it could also pair really well with certain seafood dishes, especially oysters.

Both were tasted chilled and then allowed to come up to room temperature before I tasted again. I also tasted a few nibbles alongside them, to see what went better with what— unfortunately oysters and foie gras played no part in this tasting, much to my taste buds’ dismay. I ransacked the house and grabbed some stuff Joe Schmo might have in his house as opposed to Jacques Pepin.

Fortress Novateur – The more aromatic of the two, I’m guessing because of the musque clone of the SB grapes. Even chilled, I got plenty of pit fruits like apricots and peaches. It obviously also had much more minerality/acidity because it’s only an off-dry wine. As it warmed up I expected LESS minerality but oddly enough, I seemed to get MORE. No complaints, though. It was very cool!

Fortress Finale – Not as aromatic as the Novateur, but still had beautiful floral and honey notes. It was thick and unctuous, but not overly heavy, probably because it’s not high in alcohol. As it warmed up it became more aromatic, showing some tropical fruit but what smacked me upside the head was the scent of anise. A beautifully made and balanced “old world” style wine.

Food pairings:
Butter Cookie – Better with the Finale
Kettle Corn – Paired equally with both because of the sweet/salty aspect
Danish Blue Cheese – Also paired equally with both
Edible Underwear – What?! I was running out of food pairings! Not even moonshine would wash this stuff down.

Dear International Culinary Center,

You’ll have to forgive me if I choose not to enroll in any of the latest course offerings you emailed me about such as “Food Journalism,” “The Craft of Food Writing,” or “Food Blogging.” I know it sounds a bit crass but I have a hard time taking instruction on how to write well from an institution that sends me an email titled “Write For Food.” See, that title kinda reminds me of the guy that sits on the steps of the church over on 87th Street who looks like Gary Busey but smells like Newark, NJ and has a sign around his neck saying “Will Work For Food”. I don’t write for food, I write about food (and wine, and music, and motherhood, and anything else that generally pisses me off or soaks my shorts). If you can’t get that right—or write—what the hell can you hope to teach me? That’s about as bad as an editor-for-hire sending me an email riddled with typos, sweetheart. Tell ya what…YOU stick to teaching people how to cook, and I’LL stick to writing about it all. But thanks for thinking of me and my blog, which you have obviously deemed to be in need of more skilled writing. I’ll make a mental note of it—a grammatically correct note, of course.

Here is my promise to you…I will NEVER—not now, not ever—tell you what romantic options there are in the way of wines for Valentine’s Day. All those ridiculous wines called Seduction, Naked, Cleavage Creek, Sexy, etc. won’t ever be mentioned here in reference to Vday, regardless of whether or not they’re any good. I never dug the pseudo holiday anyway—the service in restaurants sucks, the menus are limited, the roses die, and the chocolate (unless it comes from someone who knows the difference between Vosges and Whitman’s Sampler) will better serve as compost. Nonetheless, showing our love is important, and given that Vday falls on a Saturday this year, there’s really no excuse for NOT doing something. Sure if you wanna be true to the anti-institution, counterculture anarchist in you then you should do it on a random Tuesday as opposed to on the holiday itself, but that’s for you to wrestle with. What I have here is a sure fire way to do as part-time-EMT David Lee Roth said: Show Your Love. How, you ask? Risotto.

Unless you’ve already popped your cherry when it comes to making risotto, many people think it’s incredibly hard to prepare, which is nonsense. As long as you have the time to give it your attention you’ll do fine. The way I see it, risotto is a labor of love, but one that rewards you tenfold. Certain things (like dusting and vacuuming) can, without question, be rushed. Risotto can’t. And this concoction I put together will send your lover into a spin not once but twice—didn’t think you could do that any more at your age, did you?

I humbly submit for your drooling pleasure: Bacon and Cheddar Risotto. From the aftermath will then come its second incarnation: Bacon and Cheddar Arancini (Rice Balls). When I first started discussing the recipe idea, it occurred to me that even though wine is typically used in making a risotto, perhaps I should use beer instead as that tends to lend itself nicely to ANYTHING “bacon and cheddar”. I was right. So here’s how to twice woo the love of your life in the kitchen. If they don’t like these two dishes, check for a pulse (actual recipe is listed in the Recipes section).

After sautéing some bacon pieces in the pan to a crunchy crisp, I pulled them out to drain and added the chopped onion to the pan. Once the onion became translucent and lightly golden, I added the Arborio rice and let them both continue to cook, toasting the rice just a bit. Then, instead of white wine, I added half a beer and let it bubble away and reduce before beginning to add the stock little by little. This is the crucial part, folks. Add a ladle’s worth of stock to the rice, stir it gently and wait for the liquid to be absorbed by the rice. When the pools of liquid are gone, add another ladle and repeat. Continue doing this as the rice grains begin to swell and give off their glorious starchiness. The only way to know when a risotto is done is by tasting it. I always make too much stock and have leftover because you’re never quite sure how much it’ll take. When the rice’s crunch is gone but it still has a little tooth left in it, it’s ready. I then added a couple of pats of butter, the grated cheddar cheese and the bacon. DON’T SEASON UNTIL EVERYTHING IS IN!!!

Part Two: The recipe is built for 2 people so that there are enough leftovers to make rice balls the next day. The pleasure of well-made arancini is the same pleasure of well-made croquettes…crunchy exterior, soft gooey interior. To make life easy on yourself, keep the rice cold until you’re ready to make these because room-temperature rice will be a mess to work with. Wisk an egg in a bowl and add tiny bit of water. In another bowl get some bread crumbs set up. Make small rice balls the size of meatballs and roll them first in the bread crumbs, then in the egg, and then back in the bread crumbs. If you want these to be over the top you can add a little piece of cheddar to the center of the ball before you bread it so that it’ll melt when you fry them. I was out of cheddar by this point as you can see in the picture. Fry them, drain them, sprinkle a little chopped parsley and just a bit of coarse salt….no better way to say “I love you” in my book.

I’ve been known to do a lot of sneaky, underhanded things in the name of good wine, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. And since most of my family doesn’t read this blog anyway, I know I’ll safely remain in their good graces despite my enological confessions here. For instance, I’m not generally known to draw comparisons between Nixon and myself, but do I always serve guests the same wine I’m drinking? No friggin’ way. If I’m having people over that could care less what wine is in their glass, I’ll generally serve something mildly but unquestionably better than Beringer White Zin and keep the bottle of the “good stuff” stashed away behind something unappealing—like a pile of dirty dishes. That way, I can sneak away and get my refill all Mission-Impossible-like, leaving the dishes placed ever so, to create an impromptu tripwire should anyone discover my booty.

I’m also smart enough to know whom I do and don’t ask to bring wine to a party. My dad, for instance (God bless him), has fallen prey to all the critter wines that line the shelves these days. If it has a funky label, or better yet a funky name (i.e. Wrongo Dongo), in the shopping cart it goes. I once, in a pinch, asked him to pick up a couple of bottles on his way up to my son’s birthday party, and have spent the better part of 2 years trying to forget that FishEye merlot he brought, which they claim is wine—I’m dubious. So if I’m inviting people over and they ask, “Can I bring some wine for you?” I know who gets a yes and who gets a no. Sorry if that seems pretentious, but if you read this blog on a regular basis, chances are you already know I don’t give a crap what you think. You did know that, right?

But here’s something I DON’T do in the name of good wine—save it. We’ve all got special bottles put away for some dumbass reason or another. Maybe it’s a gifted bottle from your birth year’s vintage. Or perhaps it’s one that you inherited, bought with your first paycheck, celebrated with at your wedding, or partied with after your divorce. But wine is meant to be drunk and enjoyed not propped in a display case or looked upon as a relic of our memories. Dottie Gaiter and John Brecher over at the WSJ have been preaching this “drink the damned thing already” concept for almost 10 years now with Open That Bottle Night (OTBN). As their 10th anniversary approaches, cork dorks everywhere are getting ready to celebrate with an episode of Twitter Taste Live hoping to be the biggest live online tasting yet. But screw that! Don’t even bother waiting for February 28th’s episode, people! The only requirement for the perfect moment to drink that bottle is that you can give it your attention. Other than that, everything else is gravy. Books are meant to be read, music is meant to be heard and wine is meant to be drunk. Open that blasted bottle already, and create new memories before you’re too old to remember them.

Why the hell are you still here reading? GO!

Bob Schneider

So, when I last caught you up on my mindful eating saga, I had come to the realization (and you had all lovingly empathized) that I am a tool. I almost never eat strictly out of physical hunger. Mental hunger, however—well, let’s just say I’ve got that one down pat. After another week of affirming the obvious I decided to move past page 20, and here we are. So let’s talk about a trigger. Not Roy Rogers’ noble steed, not a firing mechanism and most definitely not a sexual euphemism used by Mötley Crüe. Eating triggers. This, apparently, is the part of the book where I come to grips with the fact that, in addition to being a tool I’m apparently also a prime candidate for hypnosis because I’m so damned suggestible. Given a list of craving triggers, I was supposed to identify which of them is my one particular weakness. As you can see, this exercise didn’t do too well in defining me:

Food Characteristics: Smells, Sights and Sounds. Does smelling bacon make you want to eat it? Does looking at photos of appealing food make you want it? Does the sound of fajitas sizzling in a cast iron skillet make you crave them? Hell Yes. Check.

Activities: TV, reading, entertainment, socializing. Well, let’s see…watching Top Chef, reading Consider The Oyster, chatting about a night out at Babbo…Duh! Check.

Settings: Are you stimulated to eat more so when you are indoors or outdoors? Exactly. Check.

Events: Holidays, birthdays, parties, days off? Look, I consider washing my hair a worthy enough event to have a Yodel. Check.

Time: Breakfast, lunch, dinner, late night…do you eat simply because it’s supposed to be “time to eat”? Unless I am incapacitatingly ill, a meal is a terrible thing to waste. Check.

People: Do “permission people” or “stress people” make you want to eat (i.e. foodie friends, comfort people)? Does that include neighbors, Jehovah’s Witnesses, transients and stray dogs? If so, Check.

Words: If you read “roasted,” “grilled,” “sautéed,” “caramelized” etc. does that trigger you to be hungry? Or, perhaps “chocolate,” “porterhouse” or “french fries”? On the other hand, maybe it’s names like “Krispy Kreme,” “Haagen Dazs” or “Doritos” that do it? Is this a serious question? Check.

Weather: Inclement weather, picnic weather? How about just plain weather, ok? Check.

I’m supposed to pick ONE? One! That’s like asking 9-year-old Katie to choose between Leif Garrett, David Cassidy and Andy Gibb (or 37-year-old Katie to choose between Dave Grohl, Lenny Kravitz and Bob Schneider). I’m ashamed to say that rather than advancing a couple of chapters, I wound up dog-earing page 29, left to ponder not only why everything makes me “hungry” but, more importantly, why I give a shit. Why is it that my husband can eat a bowl of chocolate ice cream with Fluff, hot fudge and whipped cream, and then decide an hour later (with none of my paranoia) that he’d like a fucking HOT DOG, while I sit there philosophizing about the White Castles commercial that now has me in a manic state of pseudo-hunger? Hmm? Tell you what, Bob…you bring the wine, I’ll bring the trigger.

Regardless of how often someone might tell you that what they find most attractive about the opposite sex (or the same sex, depending on whom you’re talking to) is a sense of humor, intelligence, sensitivity, blah, blah, the initial attraction is nearly always physical…it has to be, because most times you see a person before you have a chance to speak to them. Obviously, if there isn’t any internal substance once they open their mouths, the attraction quickly fades but nonetheless what you are first drawn to is the exterior. OK, OK, I’m sure there are some who tolerate inferior content for the sake of the package, but we’ll save that for another article…on jackasses.

Despite my rants about packaging and marketing that insults consumer intelligence, I’m drawn to great wine labels as much as anyone else—sometimes it’s the humor, sometimes it’s the beauty, and sometimes it’s simply uniqueness. It goes without saying that if the juice in the bottle doesn’t live up to its label I won’t go back for seconds, but I’m game to try any wine at least once as long as no marsupials or reptiles grace its face. To those of you who cling blindly to the notion that serious wine can’t possibly come with a silly label, I’ll gladly leave you to your stately chateau, your picturesque landscape and your gold-foil stamping. I’m sure I’ll contradict myself at some point in the future and rant about how much I despise goofy wine labels but remember: my blog, my prerogative.

Case in point: I’m looking to buy some new bubbles for a Friday evening, and nothing is grabbing my attention until I see a bottle of M. Lawrence’s “Sex”. Sorry, but you’ve gotta be one cold fish for that not to make you stop and pick up the bottle. And for $14, I’ll admit that I was perfectly willing to give that sparkling rosé a go, if for no other reason than to be able to say, “The Sex is great, isn’t it?” or “Would you like some more Sex, hon?” Turned out it was a great bottle of wine, well worth the price, that I’ve bought a few times since.

So I think it’s about damned time that we give props to wine labels that grab us, shake us and stir us. Here are a couple that are part of my “this is friggin’ genius” collection…chime in and tell me what your favorites are:

Le Terrazze’s “Chaos”
This one may not quite do it for you, but for a geek like me who has studied chaos theory, fractals are mathematical art. I’ve collected each vintage thusfar, and the juice inside is a delicious red blend from the Marches. In fact, IMHO, this winery has helped put that Italian wine region on the map.

Vinum Cellar’s “Chard-No-Way”
Two dudes hitchhiking with a “will work for chenin” sign is my kinda label! If you’re part of the “anything but chard” crowd, it’s bound to grab you, regardless of whether or not you are interested in picking up some chenin blanc, and more likely than not you’ll buy this (like I did) just because it pokes so much fun at California chardonnay. Again, this was a bottle worth buying twice.

Château d’Oupia’s “Les Hérétiques”
Hey, any wine that calls itself “the heretics” will catch my eye, period. I’ve talked about this wine before as it’s one of my favorite “weekday wines” but I’ll admit that I first bought it simply because of its label. The map of the constellations, the monochromatic design…all very cool. The story behind the name is even cooler: It commemorates the massacre of Minereve in 1208 which was only one of the many Crusades led by the Roman Catholic Church, who, calling the Cathari ‘heretics,’ persecuted them in town after town. The Cathars’ story, one of the unquenchable spirit of man, juxtaposed with the inhumanity of man, imparts new significance on Languedoc’s ruined towers and castles…All this, not to mention that the wine is a great VdP made from carignan and syrah. It’s a great value, and what with Chicken Little telling us that our economic sky is falling, value is what we need.